


we're all just hunters seeking solid ground

by lavenderseaslug



Category: Succession (TV 2018)
Genre: F/M, no really this is a survivor AU, slime puppy on survivor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:40:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26894590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavenderseaslug/pseuds/lavenderseaslug
Summary: Gerri/Roman on Survivor AU | If Jeff asked Gerri right now what she thought of her tribe, she would say that they have what it takes. But if she was doing her one-on-one interview, she would say what she’s actually thinking. Which is that her tribe looks like a motley collection of idiots. At least their buffs are blue.
Relationships: Gerri Kellman/Roman "Romulus" Roy
Comments: 8
Kudos: 38





	we're all just hunters seeking solid ground

**Author's Note:**

  * For [leatherpumpkin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/leatherpumpkin/gifts).



> The rule is that if you take the bar exam during a pandemic, you get to ask for any fic in the world that you want. So I got asked to write Gerri and Roman on Survivor, and that's exactly what this is. If you've seen "Survivor Philippines" - this is sort of like that. Anyway, Gerri's game would be the same as Cirie's and this isn't up for debate. Also as an added bonus, a lot of this was written on the farm that acts as inspo for the Montana farm, so that's a nice easter egg.

_Day One_

If Jeff asked Gerri right now what she thought of her tribe, she would say that they have what it takes. But if she was doing her one-on-one interview, she would say what she’s actually thinking. Which is that her tribe looks like a motley collection of idiots. At least their buffs are blue.

She blames her daughter, really, for ending up on this beach. There’s no one else to blame. She’s the one that got Gerri started watching Survivor every week, the one who practically filled out the application for her. “You’re perfect for it. No one knows what you’re thinking and everyone trusts you.” She even puts that in the form that gets submitted to ABC.

And now she’s here, after a few months of calls and interviews and background checks. There’s a meeting with a psychologist to make sure she’s mentally sound, and when she asks, “Is anyone who tries out for Survivor mentally sound to begin with?” all she’s met with is a glare that could rival her own.

There’s no real gimmick this year, as they pick out wrapped buffs on the beach, just a surprise that there are three tribes, not two, that she has only five people to contend with. She’s not sure if that’s good or bad, but she’s going to make the most of it. The rest of her tribe looks a little motley, haphazard, and she knows you can’t judge first impressions. But still, she’s glad she fought with the crew to be allowed to wear trousers, if they were going to make her wear a suit. The last thing she wanted was to be on a beach with nothing but a pencil skirt to keep mosquitos at bay.

Her bag is laden with sneakers and her swimsuit, a show-provided canteen, and nothing else. She can’t remember the last time she carried a bag that wasn’t full of technology, phones, cords, anything to keep her connected to the world, tethered to it. Some might find the change freeing, invigorating. All she can think of is the emails piling up in her inbox.

When she gets pulled aside for her one-on-one interview, she gets asked, point blank, what made her decide to come out to an island, when she has all the money she could ever want. “I’m not in it for the money,” she says, though she’d never say no to a check - that is, after all, how the rich get richer. “I like to be the best.” Competitive spirit, and nothing else, brought her to the beach. “I like to win. I’m a lawyer, after all.”

She wonders what she’ll look like to the rest of the world when the episodes air. Some stodgy woman, probably. Too old to keep up. But she’s watched the show, she knows the angles she can play. And she knows enough to gather wood, knows enough to strike the flint just so, sending sparks flying into a nest of fodder.

_Day Three_

She thinks she might hate every single person in her tribe. Kaibigan. She studied enough Tagalog before coming that she knows it means “Friend” - but she can’t imagine a group of people less likely to become anything more than acquaintances she tries to forget.

There’s Frank - older than she is, and definitely not as smart. He’s tried to corral all the young men to his side in an effort to distract people from his age and general uselessness. Stewy is one of those young men, fairly in shape, definitely missing cigarettes, and definitely eating more than his share of rice. Lawrence is the other young buck and he’s the only one Gerri feels any concern about. There’s plots in his mind, behind his suave exterior, and she doesn’t think she can trust him.

There’s a woman named Naomi who seems to be going for a mysterious flirt angle, and it’s not really working on anyone. Maybe if she makes it to a tribe swap or a merge, but Gerri just thinks of her as fodder.

And there’s Roman. She knows who he is, has seen his name in the paper, he’s always getting tweeted about, a millionaire fuck-up who’s never been held accountable. But on the first night, he came up to her, already smelling of sweat and sand, his hair flopping in his eyes, and suggested they form an alliance.

“They’re all stupid fucking idiots, I can just tell,” he said, leaning close, his arm brushing her chest. “I say we make a pact, here and now, that we’ve got each other’s back. You scratch my back, I scratch yours, all that shit. But, like, we can’t talk about it ever again. We just have to know.” It’s a gamble, but she supposes, but there’s nothing in life that isn’t.

They get put together on the puzzle in their first challenge - no one thinks there’s any muscle in Roman’s scrawny arms, and Gerri volunteers - but they don’t even get to show off their combined brain power, the brawn of the tribe not even making it to the halfway point before the other two tribes complete the challenge.

“Kaibigan? I’ve got nothing for you,” Jeff says, and it’s not terrible, since they already have a fire going at camp, but it isn’t great either. A blanket sounds positively luxurious already, and a tarp would be beyond heavenly. He tells them he’ll see them at tribal council, and Gerri feels a knot in her stomach, as bad as any board meeting when she knows heads will roll, just hoping she gets to keep hers.

Her name doesn’t come up, not even once. Naomi comes to her, offers up Frank. Stewy is glad to throw him a vote too. “He’s desperate and it’s just really, really, deeply upsetting.” He picks at a scrap of fish and rice from the pot that Gerri’s carrying, sucks on his finger in a way that _she_ finds really, really, deeply upsetting.

She’s rinsing it out in the sea when Roman comes near, his pants rolled up to his knees, his ankles still pale. She knows she’s pink, burnt in the sun, doesn’t know how he’s managed to keep any part of his body from the strength of the sun.

“It’s Frank?” he asks, not even looking at her, shielding his eyes and looking back down the beach. Naomi and Lawrence are together, and she’s laughing at something he’s saying, and Gerri wonders if she’ll have to worry about that later. If _they’ll_ have to worry about that later. It’s strange to be part of a team, even one she’s not quite sure is real.

“It’s Frank,” she says, wiping her hand around the insides of the pot, the salt water warm against her fingers. “He thinks it’s Lawrence.” She shrugs, a gesture she’s sure Roman doesn’t even see, but she can’t stop her shoulders from moving.

There’s a sense of relief, knowing there’s nothing to worry about at tribal council, even though Jeff tries to press a storyline that no one can know for certain so early in the game. When he asks who thinks they’re safe tonight, she follows suit and raises her hand along with everyone else. He asks who she trusts, and she says “Everyone. And also no one,” which earns her an incredulous smile, and she can imagine glances being traded behind her.

She doesn’t necessarily appreciate being seated in front of the group, wishes she could see more of everyone. That’s always been her strength in the boardroom, being able to see everyone and read the looks on all their faces, whether or not they know what’s being shown.

She writes Frank’s name in clear letters, takes care to fold her parchment in half neatly, creasing it with her fingers and dropping it in the jar. Roman is up behind her, and he drops a wink so sly she thinks not even the cameras will have noticed it. She’s grateful for dim lighting and flickering fire because she thinks her cheeks might be slightly pink.

_Days Five - Eleven_

Gerri’s been caught in the rain before, torrential downpours when she has to hail a cab, winter rainfalls when she’s glad to be inside by her fireplace. But the island rain is nothing like that. There’s no break in the clouds, no pause of the patter against their poorly-constructed shelter. “This is the worst fucking tribe,” Roman mutters as he uses a long branch to poke at the ashes of their once burning fire, water dripping down his face.

“Some sort of national disgrace. Will they even let us back in our homes?” She can see his lips quirk up. Even if she’s wet, all the way through to her skin, it’s good to be out of the shelter, away from the shivering, teeth chattering, from Stewy’s complaints. They’ve been advised by the crew to spend most of their time where they can get at least marginally dry, but Roman told them he gets stir crazy, and Gerri begged off to pee in the woods. She’s gotten used to squatting, is thankful that she doesn’t have to worry about cramps or blood while she’s out here, can’t imagine ibuprofen is something that can be won in a challenge.

When they lose the next challenge, a complete failure that manages to be everyone’s fault - if Gerri had to defend her tribe, she’d say it’s a combination of malnutrition, cold extremities, and exhaustion - and she thinks Jeff looks disappointed that there’s no underdog story to be had with them.

She’s embarrassed to be on her tribe, embarrassed that this is the impression that people will have of her when this airs. She wishes she could tell her daughter what a nightmare it is to be on a tribe that just can’t win.

She thought they’d be better when Frank was gone, leaner, sleeker, less dead weight. But then Naomi twisted her ankle in the second immunity challenge, and they hobbled back to their camp while the other tribes got food and spices. Gerri’s become used to rice, soggy and bland. They did manage to find a fish, washed up on the beach, and fried it, eating it with their fingers, huddled around the remains of the fire they’ve managed to resuscitate. She can feel the meager warmth, holds her hands close to the flames, doesn’t even mind the smoke in her face.

“It’s me, isn’t it?” Naomi asks, one hand rubbing her ankle. They all exchange glances.

“You’re injured,” Lawrence offers, because it’s easy when there’s a scapegoat. “We’re already terrible, we can’t take the risk.” Naomi nods, like she’s trying to be noble, like she’s not disappointed that this is how her time on the show is going to end.

Jeff makes tribal council quick and painless, the rain starting again as they all get seated on their tree stumps. “I’m guessing you all came to a decision. I saw Naomi limping on in here.” There are nods, Gerri can see Roman out of the corner of her eye. Jeff doesn’t make them wait, doesn’t ask them lots of questions. He wants to be out of the rain too.

When he reads out the votes, Gerri sees that Roman put a sad face on the piece of parchment with Naomi’s name on it. What an ass.

They win the next reward challenge, and it’s like there’s a break in the clouds, the sun coming out to warm the faces of Kaibigan. The taste of chicken with spices is good enough to almost bring Gerri to tears. Like the best chicken she’s ever had, and she’s eaten Michelin star chicken.

And then they promptly lose again. Stewy gets voted out and no one seems to really care. And when it’s Lawrence against the two of them, he knows there’s no crack to be found. Somehow the secret alliance between Gerri and Roman is not so secret, but there’s only the three of them that know it, only the three of them on the beach, and so it doesn’t really matter. She doesn’t know what happens when they’re down to two.

“Fuck,” Roman says, sitting down next to her by their crackling fire.

“Succinct and correct,” she says, looks up to see where Lawrence is; wandering by the beach, trailing a stick in the sand. “You don’t have a secret alliance with him, do you?” Roman looks at her with wide eyes, so innocent and young, for all that he’s in his thirties.

“No fucking way, are you kidding me?” he asks. “You are abso _lutely_ a stone-cold killer bitch, aren’t you? But he’s not as hot as you. Doesn’t really up my cache, you know?” It’s all business speak that doesn’t mean anything in the end - she assumes he bluffs his way through every meeting, every interaction, that nothing he does in the boardroom bears any weight on what the company actually does. But she thinks there’s also a chance he knows more than he lets on, and he just doesn’t think the company is worth his time.

She doesn’t know if he actually thinks she’s hot or if he’s fucking with her. She’s glad of the sunburn that doesn’t seem to ever fade that hides the blush on her cheeks. “And you came on Survivor to ‘up your cache’?” She blinks once, twice.

“Dicking around on an island for thirty-nine days seemed as good an idea as any,” he says, leaning against the felled log that passes for seating around the fire, his toes digging into the dirt. He has slender feet, and she doesn’t know why it matters.

“You think you’ll last all the way to the end?” she asks, eyebrow raised.

“Done pretty well so far,” he parries back, nudging her knee with his shoulder. “Flirting my way to the top. Didn’t think I was good at all that blah blah business jerk-off stuff but…” He trails off, shrugs again, his arm solidly in contact with her leg.

Lawrence makes his way back to the fire, breaks the stick he’s been dragging into two pieces and drops them on the flames, orange and red licking up at the fresh wood. “You know your best chance of winning a challenge is with me as a teammate?” he asks, a last-ditch attempt.

“You haven’t done shit for us yet, pretty boy,” Roman says. “Look at where we are. You don’t have one fucking leg to stand on.” She wonders if that’s the blah blah business jerk-off acumen he thinks he’s developed while living on this island.

Lawrence doesn’t really say anything again until they’re in front of Jeff at tribal council, answering questions in monosyllables, knowing his fate is all but sealed. His parting message is flipping them the bird, which just makes Roman laugh, tossing up his own middle finger right back.

Gerri just rolls her eyes, but can’t help feeling concern eating away at her, because they don’t know what’s next, because there’s never been a tribe as terrible as theirs. Because there’s no way she and Roman could win a challenge alone, unless it’s predicated on berating people and solving puzzles, and she doesn’t just doesn’t know what’s going to _happen_. She hates when she can’t predict the next steps. Survivor just doesn’t neatly fit into her chess game.

Jeff gives them no clues, just sends them back to their beach, their two torches bobbing along in the darkness.

When they’re back at camp, and it’s just the two of them, and the cameramen have gone away, it feels so incredibly quiet. She feels so incredibly small, just the two of them on this beach, laying in the makeshift shelter, not even a blanket to pull over them.

“Fuck.” She echoes Roman’s conversation starter from before, when things didn’t feel quite as dire, even though circumstances aren’t very different. “It’s almost ridiculous,” she says, looking up at the stars, visible through the holes in the roof, through the branches and leaves no one knew how to weave. “A rich asshole and a lawyer walk onto a beach. The start of some perverse joke.”

“I’m not an asshole,” Roman grouses, but she can tell he doesn’t even believe that.

“You are. Just a ridiculous, little idiotic asshole who can’t even throw a coconut into a net.” It’s not exactly fair, but she doesn’t know what else to do, to get all of the irritation, the anger, inside of her out.

“What else?” Roman asks, his voice curious, not defensive, and it takes her a moment to understand, to see what he’s asking for.

“The epitome of all mouth and no trousers. A fuckup with no prospects who decided to see if he could live on an island.” She’s glad of the dark, even though she can hear Roman’s breathing next to her, can feel the slight warmth of him even from inches away. She wonders if there are hidden cameras catching these moments, doesn’t even spare a moment to blush. “You’re worse than the rats on this beach,” she says.

“Yeah?” He’s panting a little now, his voice eager even.

“Just a fucking muck monkey,” she says, and she hears the catch in his throat. “Rolling around in shit because you can’t be bothered to clean it up.” They’re in the shit together, right now, but at least she’s trying to find a way out of it, trying to plan for what’s next. She almost thinks he’d be satisfied if the two of them just lived on this island forever, poking at fish on the reef and heating up flavorless rice and beans in a pot.

He grunts again, and she hears him roll over, wonders if he’s going to wipe his dick on a palm frond.

They don’t speak again until morning, when tree mail arrives, telling them to pack up whatever they want to keep with them, and to leave the rest behind.

“Maybe it’s a merge,” Gerri says, but she knows the odds. There are still fourteen people on the island, that would be an insane merge. It probably won’t end in any way that’s good for her. Or good for Roman.

And it isn’t. The sole person in the game she thinks she can trust gets put on Laho, and she gets shunted to Saksi. Her new tribemates don’t seem especially glad to have her, and she’s not especially glad to be there; if Kaibigan wasn’t losing, then Saksi was. Laho never experienced defeat, not once - first in every challenge. At least Roman will be safe in that respect. She wonders if there’s anyone on his tribe that will watch out for the scrawny asshole. She pats his arm haphazardly as they separate from the Kaibigan mat and Jeff declares their tribe no more.

_Days Thirteen - Eighteen_

Gerri doesn’t think she really likes her new tribe any more than the old one. There’s a woman about her age named Marcia who just sizes Gerri up and down, and doesn’t say anything besides “Welcome,” when they all sit down after the reward challenge. The challenge that they lost. Not an auspicious start.

Siobhan gives her a hug and is overly inviting in a way that puts Gerri off, and she can already see there’s some kind of awkward flirtation between Shiv and Tom, a too-tall man with a talent for putting his foot in his mouth. He looks like the kind of person who would take fish from someone’s plate as some fucked up power move, like he might just go ape and yell at everyone.

There’s another twosome, Kendall and Rava - and if she’s honest, Rava seems too good for the sad-faced man who acts like he’s a genius, like he’s god’s gift to the game of survivor. She would bet, without fail, that in his one-on-one interviews, he’s described himself as a chess master.

And then there’s Karolina, who seems like a loner, maybe, or at least aloof. And it’s no surprise that she’s the one Gerri likes most. Karolina hasn’t tried to jump up anyone’s ass in the half hour Gerri’s spent with them so far, and it’s a relief.

“So what was your tribe like?” Shiv asks, “How are you feeling?”

Gerri thinks the key to the game is treating every interaction like an interview, always holding something back but never seeming like she is.

“Very clearly we couldn’t get it together,” she says with a self-deprecating smile. “And it’s a relief to be back on a tribe that is more than two or three people.” It’s true and it isn’t. A whole slate of new faces to learn, two weeks of relationships that have already been built. And she has to find her way in.

“Oh yeah, that Rome guy seems like a real creep,” Tom chimes in, sitting too close to Shiv, and Gerri resists the urge to correct him. Now is the time to disabuse them all of the notion that she and Roman have some unshakeable bond. Especially because she has no idea what he’s doing on the other beach. Maybe he’s selling her down the river right now, over the Outback feast his tribe just won.

When they lose the next challenge, Marcia throws the quietest fit of anyone Gerri’s ever seen. Her face goes tight and she stomps off down the beach, doesn’t talk to anyone. And when she does come back up to join them by the fire, she just says she’s leaving.

“I don’t want to get voted out, I don’t want my torch to be snuffed, I just want to be done. Now that we have this,” she gestures at Gerri, “bad luck charm, there’s no point.”

Gerri knows that something else must have been building behind this, that Marcia quitting the game. Her brain races as she tries to think of how to use this, of the angle she can play on.

And it turns out she doesn’t need to worry. Shiv’s been poking at Marcia for days, excluding her, talking behind her back, undermining her. And the loss today, for which Marcia has been blamed (by Shiv), appears to be the cherry on top.

So Marcia leaves, just gets up and walks off with some crewmembers, barely says more than a perfunctory goodbye once her decision is final.

“Do you think -” Tom starts, and Kendall cuts him off,

“-I bet we still have to vote someone out,” he says, and Gerri can see the barely restrained impulse on everyone’s face to start plotting, to turn to their alliance members, blatant, out in the open alliances, and say the names of who they want gone.

When Gerri suggests that she and Karolina get water, she gently pushes Shiv’s name. “Without her, you’d still have Marcia. She’s not good for numbers,” she says, casually, like there’s no stake in whether or not they vote Shiv out.

Karolina seems to consider it, tilting her head as the water spits into their canteens. “Why her and not you?” she asks, no meanness in her voice, just a gentle sort of curiosity.

“As far as you’re concerned?” Gerri asks, and Karolina nods, just a little movement of her head, a lock of hair falling in front of her eyes. “I’m not with any of the rest of them.” She can read Karolina - she doesn’t like the rest of Saksi any more than Gerri does, she doesn’t want to align with them. “Can we get Kendall and Rava?” All they need is two more votes, and they obviously won’t get Shiv’s.

“As long as we’re not pushing for either of them, Kendall doesn’t give a fuck,” Karolina says, in her soft voice. “He’d screw over Shiv to get to the top. There’s just about no one he won’t backstab, I think.” Gerri’s grateful she hasn’t had to spend the last two weeks on a beach with them.

They do end up going to tribal council, Jeff announcing with a certain sort of glee, a twinkle in his eye, that they will, in fact, still have to vote someone out. “That’s the game, folks,” he says, and starts peppering them with questions.

It turns out they’re all terrible at this, no poker faces, everyone confident in their own twosomes without any real ability to work with other people. It’s a gift, Gerri thinks, to see what a shitshow she’s been dropped into, to see how easily all these people will be manipulated. Karolina says she got Kendall and Rava to go with the Shiv vote, but Gerri’s not certain, hasn’t been certain of anything since she and Roman stepped off the Kaibigan mat.

“We need to keep people who keep Saksi strong,” she says, and she knows that her meaning is clear, that everyone knows who she’s talking about. But Jeff pushes her, like she knew he would.

“Who isn’t keeping Saksi strong?” he asks, parroting her words.

“I think there are always individuals who will prioritize themselves over the team, and we can’t be playing that game yet. Every woman - or man - for herself only works when your tribe doesn’t depend on winning to stay safe,” she says. “I’m new, but I know what a weak tribe looks like, and that’s the last thing I want. I’ll fight to keep us strong.”

She thinks she’ll see her name written down twice - Shiv and Tom thinking that’s the plan that everyone else has agreed on. She saw Shiv’s smirk when she answered Jeff’s questions, can only hope she and Karolina have planted strong enough seeds.

Gerri shifts slightly at Jeff reading out her name when he pulls out the first slip of paper. Always the chance, always the dance. He reads her name again, and she just nods, knows the cameras are on her, waiting for a reaction. And she doesn’t want to give one, not until all the votes are read.

The next two votes are for Shiv, written in Gerri’s strong handwriting and, she thinks, Karolina’s neat cursive. Maybe it’s Rava’s. She hazards a look at Shiv, her mouth tight and her hand gripping Tom’s, like there’s anything he could do to save her. She’s the strong one, and he’s just following behind.

Jeff reads out Shiv’s name again, and she hears a slight intake of breath from Shiv. “One vote left,” Jeff says, his voice measured and ominous and Gerri knows there’s still a chance there might be a tie, that they might have to revote, that she might have to draw a rock to stay safe. She doesn’t know what schemes Kendall and Rava have in their minds, doesn’t know what to expect.

But then Jeff says, “The sixth person voted out of Survivor Phillipines is Siobhan. Siobhan, that’s four votes, that’s enough. Bring me your torch.”

And Gerri lets out a sigh of relief, knows she’s safe for at least two more days.

When they get to the reward challenge in the morning, she thinks she sees Roman craning, trying to see if she’s safe, if she’s still there. She nods, once, quickly, doesn’t want it to look like she’s trying to communicate with him, but she doesn’t miss the little smile on his face, doesn’t know if he’s blushing or if it’s the sun on his face.

She supposes the only way she doesn’t have to worry about his mouth getting him in trouble - his mouth and his personality and his whole mien - is if Saksi loses just as much as Kaibigan did. And truly, it seems as if that will be the case, the reward challenge proving to be another loss, fishing gear out of their reach. Not that she can really imagine anyone on the tribe taking a spear out.

Maybe she’d be good at that. She’s always had remarkable aim.

There’s no need to discuss the next vote, and Tom accepts it, even, just mopes around, all tall and weird and saying inappropriate things that he quickly follows up with “I’m joking! God, can’t you take a joke?” and his accent sounds so Midwestern that Gerri can practically conjure up the thought of a state fair at the sound of it.

Kendall does intimate that Gerri owes him something, for keeping her safe, and she stares at him, blinks, and he doesn’t know what to do with that, gets a little jittery. “When we get to the merge, we’ll still be together, right?” he asks instead, and Gerri tilts her head.

“We need the numbers,” she says, not a commitment, but not a brush-off either. “Saksi strong.” She echoes her own comment from tribal council and that seems to allay him a little bit. It’s always a gift when people hear what they want to hear, without having to make them any promises.

No one is sad when Tom leaves, and he doesn’t even seem to be that sad to be going. Maybe he and Shiv will be able to reunite in the isolation housing. But at least Gerri won’t have to see him again until the reunion episode.

_Day Nineteen_

Tree mail comes with a large canoe, big enough for them all, and there’s no question that it means the merge is upon them. Gerri feels the tightness loosen, just a little bit, because she knows she’ll be back again with Roman, that maybe, along with Karolina, the three of them can make something of it. Numbers and strength are against them, but she does have a complete lack of attachment to the rest of Saksi, more than willing to offer them as bargaining chips to the Laho tribe.

But she’ll wait to see what happens. Maybe Laho is on the verge of bursting open, no tribal council, no setbacks, nothing to expel any of the tension that has no doubt been building on their beach. Maybe it will be Saksi strong to the end.

Purple and black buffs mix and mingle as they share the food between the two tribes. It’s good to see Roman, to see that he’s still there, to see his crooked little smile at his relief that she’s survived another tribal council. There’s hugging and false friendship, but Gerri doesn’t hug Roman, can’t imagine the feeling of his bony shoulders under her hands. It doesn’t feel…like them. Insomuch as there _is_ a them. She just bumps his shoulder with hers, and hands him a piece of ripe cantaloupe. Orange and juicy, and the liquid spills from his lips.

The sight of it makes something squirm in her stomach, and she doesn’t think it’s just the sudden glut of food.

Roman offers to take her to collect firewood, and no one seems to really mind when they disappear into the trees. Gerri does make an effort to pick up small branches and twigs, but she also wants to enjoy the sense of calm she feels from having someone on her side again, someone from the beginning.

“Nan’s a fucking cunt, just so you know,” Roman says, no preamble, no “I missed you,” nothing. “And Gil is, like, useless. Like worse than me. Like they’re gonna be so glad when they can get him the fuck off this tribe. Connor hates him.” Gerri tries to match names to faces, tries to remember who she’s seen do well at challenges. “And Willa is with Connor and _no_ one understands why, but it’s like, why question it? You know? Greg is a fucking nutjob, but he can climb trees and get coconuts and shit. And Tabitha is horny for me.” He says the last bit with a sideways glance to Gerri, like he’s testing her.

It makes her itchy. She doesn’t like it. “She is not,” she scoffs.

“Jealous?” Roman asks, poking Gerri with a stick he’s just picked up and she does her best not to flinch away from the soft jab.

“Did you get her to jerk you off into a sandy palm frond too?” Gerri asks, because it’s better than answering the question, because it’s better than the answer that darted into her mind, and the answer she doesn’t want to admit to. And then she changes the subject. Tells him that they probably have Karolina on their side, that at some point they’ll have to break up Kendall and Rava.

“So you, me, Karolina, Tabs. That’s four. What if - woah - what if we got rid of Nan?” Roman asks. “If she doesn’t win immunity, yada yada yada disclaimer shit. Can we get people to go along with that?”

“Kendall and Rava will do anyone but them. He thinks I’m with them. We can use that.” She just has to make it seem like she’s doing Kendall a favor by offering Nan, needs to make it seem like a debt is being repaid. “I’ll talk to him.”

The immunity challenge is basically a race, and Gerri beats Nan, but not by much. Greg darts across the balance beam, surprisingly agile for how gangly he seems, and wins the first individual immunity of the season. And when they head back to the beach, Gerri pulls Kendall aside.

“Kendall, there are a few things you should know,” she says, when they’re invisible in the trees, away from prying eyes. “There’s a huge Nan problem. Like if we let her stay, we’ve just lost a million dollars kind of problem.”

“Shit,” he breathes, and not for the first time does Gerri wonder how much swearing happens on other seasons of the show - how much they edit and blur and censor. “So what?”

“So if you and Rava are with us, we have the numbers. We can take her out. If we don’t, she takes us out.” It’s simple, it’s easy, it just has to seem like he’s in control. “We need you for this, Ken,” she says softly, the picture of a placating woman.

That puffs out his chest. “I have to talk to Rava,” he says, but Gerri knows they’ve got him, that he’ll vote with them. So easy to twist the knife, to pull the strings. All the former Laho members think Karolina is the first to go, and Tabitha and Roman play it off very well, cool insouciance that keeps anyone from suspecting.

And when Jeff reads out the votes, the confidence on Nan’s face fading with every piece of paper he pulls out of the chest, it’s satisfying - they’ve won the first round. She and Roman stay safe for another few days. She lets herself think there’s a chance, even with all the bad luck. There’s a chance they’ll make it to the end together.

_Days Twenty-Two - Twenty-Seven_

Gil is the next to go. Laho never liked him, he was always trying to ride Nan’s coattails - and with her gone? It’s easy to vote him out. Gerri barely knew him, she thinks he’ll be the one she forgets about when she thinks back on her Survivor experience in the future, lost to the wilds of her memory.

Greg is the person who’s starting to worry her now, as he wins again, proving adept at balancing balls on thin blocks and the random carnival games turned into challenges that Survivor is so known for doing. She thinks he’d fit in at an amusement park, a carnival performer. If she had to guess, she’d say he can juggle.

He’s so strange to talk to, all nerves and stuttering words, and he has almost no mind for strategy. He’s just incredibly lucky that he wins, or he could easily be tossed to the wolves. For all that Laho won challenges at the outset, there’s no real loyalty among them, no real sense of alliances having been tested. Which makes them easier to break apart.

“Seriously, what the fuck is up with Willa and Connor? Some Beauty and and the fucking Beast shit with them,” Roman says. “Also she won’t fucking stop _talking_ about the wonder of _sand_. Like, what? Sand? Are you kidding me?”

“She’ll probably get crabs,” Gerri says. “Can we get her out next?”

“I’ll ask Tabitha what she thinks.” Gerri knows - or she thinks - it’s not meant to be a jab, but she doesn’t love that he’s going to check in with someone else, that planning with Gerri isn’t enough anymore. But that’s the nature of the game. She talks to Karolina too, and Roman never seems to mind.

Kendall pushes for Connor to go. “He’s got some fucking first pancake shit going on, trying to prove himself and make himself leader of the tribe, and I’m sick of it,” he says. And because Gerri still needs Kendall, at least for now, she lets it go. The vote whispers through their mismatched tribe, Connor’s name told to the people who need to know it, and then they don’t say anything more.

She thinks Willa has tears in her eyes when Connor’s torch gets snuffed, but she could just be planning to use it for her acting reel. Or hoping it gets turned into a gif she can use on Instagram when they get back to the real world. Or maybe it’s real. But Gerri highly doubts that.

“It’s time to split up Kendall and Rava,” Gerri says. “No more pairs.” She’s standing in the ocean, Roman’s standing next to her.

“Just us,” he says, like he’s nervous, like he’s checking to make sure.

“Just us,” she answers. “We’ll still have the numbers, we just need to get Greg to vote with us. Hell, maybe Willa will throw him a vote. What does she have to lose at this point?”

“So is it Kendall first or his blushing bride?” Roman asks, and Gerri isn’t sure how to play it. Part of her thinks it should be Kendall first, the blow to his ego, the thrill of the blindside, or if it will be better to take away his ally, leave him impotent and alone, scrambling. A desperately paddling duck in the calm sea of the game.

“See who Tabitha wants. I’ll talk to Greg.”

And it’s Rava who goes. Two votes for Willa, five votes for Rava, one vote for Roman. Because no one told Willa who to vote for. Kendall’s jaw goes slack and he just hugs Rava goodbye, and looks like he doesn’t know what to do next. And Nan and Gil look smug from their jury seats.

Which is why it’s all the more surprising when Kendall suggests that Gerri be the next person voted out.

_Days Twenty-Eight - Thirty-Eight_

“Kendall’s doing shit,” Roman says, when he and Gerri are the only ones at the fire pit in the morning, stoking the coals, putting down fresh kindling.

“All right, how about this: you do shit,” she says, too tired to temper her words, too frustrated at the scene Kendall caused when they came back from tribal council, pointing his finger at Gerri, claiming she’s the biggest threat on the island, when all she’s tried to do for twenty-seven days is to create a persona that no one will be threatened by.

“It’s just fucked up that he threw you under the bus like that. Just, like, you’re a filing cabinet! You’re this boring old lady and why would anyone think of you as a threat?” He is really very lucky they made an alliance on the first day, or his mouth really would have gotten him eliminated.

“Who says you don’t know how to flirt?” is the only response she can muster.

“But like why don’t _I_ seem like a threat. You’re like a mole woman and I’m a fucking rockstar. And no one fucking cares.”

“Ah, the adventures of mole woman and the rockstar, coming to theaters this fall,” she quips, and shoos him away. “We need more firewood.”

It’s later, when they’re all sitting around the fire, and it’s dark and the wood is popping that Kendall again says they should all vote out Gerri.

“Gerri? Really?” Roman jumps in before. “Why not you? Why not Willa? Fuck me, Kendall, it’s like you’re allergic to common fucking sense. _Gerri_? You want to get rid of Gerri when she’s the only reason you’re still on this beach with sand on your nuts.”

Gerri is under no illusions about whether or not her alliance with Roman is a secret anymore, but this is the first time he’s done this, they’ve done this - an open acknowledgement of something between them.

“She’s the center of the web,” Kendall says. “Sorry, Gerri, I like you but also. Fuck you.”

“Who do you want instead?” Willa asks, more of a rapier since Connor left. Quiet and subdued, but able to make pointed attacks.

“What about Mr. Jolly Green Giant over there? He keeps winning challenges, he makes it to the top, and we’re all left sucking our thumbs and oh poor me poor me I didn’t think he was a threat bullshit,” Roman says. “Anyone makes more sense than _Gerri_.”

Greg starts to interject, but Roman just flips him off and walks away.

“I guess we’ll see how the immunity challenge goes,” Gerri says after a long pause, with only the fire crackling to break the silence.

They get Tabitha and Willa and Karolina, and Kendall goes. Only Greg votes with Kendall, with the mistaken confidence of a man who has no idea what he’s doing.

Winning the next immunity challenge is what keeps him from following Kendall to Ponderosa, and Willa is the easy vote. Tabitha pulls out a surprise win, toppling Greg from his throne of wins, and he knows his time is up, doesn’t even try to plead with anyone, simply accepts his fate. Gerri’s almost disappointed he didn’t have a plan in his back pocket.

When Roman wins the reward challenge, a trip for two to a spa for the night, only Tabitha looks surprised that he picks Gerri to go with him.

She’s been on helicopters before, but this feels like luxury compared to every other flight before. The padded seats, comfort for the first time in weeks. The shower is a miracle, hot water that she didn’t have to boil first. She washes her hair three times, scrubs her body for fifteen minutes, and stands under the spray for long enough that it makes Roman knock on the door to check that she hasn’t escaped out the window.

There are two beds, but they share, don’t even talk about it. It doesn’t feel romantic or erotic, it’s just - she likes the companionship. She hasn’t slept alone in thirty-some days, and it would feel strange to start now. She’s used to the sound of his breathing.

“You know we have to vote out Karolina?” he asks, in the middle of the night, and she’s still wide awake. She turns to look at him, the moonlight just barely illuminating his face. “No one hates her, and they all hate us.”

This is it, the riskiest move. Do they take out someone who’s been with them from the merge, loyal, not wavering, popular with every member of Saksi on the jury? Or do they take out the woman who flipped on her tribe for every blindside? What will the jury reward - loyalty or strategy?

It’s Gerri’s turn for an immunity win, catching balls as they flow through a series of tubes. Roman goes out first, his concentration shit, and he just sits and watches, eyes dark. Gerri is dextrous and calm, and can feel that Tabitha and Karolina keep darting glances her way, but she never takes her eyes off her own station, and that’s what makes her win.

“Gerri’s got a knack for handling balls,” Roman says, snickering, and Jeff just rolls his eyes. “What?” Roman asks. “If I didn’t say it, you were going to voice it over later!” That earns him a laugh, and Gerri feels lighter than she has, an assured spot in the final three. All her work, all her plans, they’ve gotten her here, and she won when it counted.

There’s a part of her that rolls over a third plan in her head, one Roman didn’t mention: she votes him out.

She knows the jury will ask her about it, knows that this is the time to choose between her two greatest allies. She talks to her remaining tribe mates individually, is sure by the time they get to tribal council that each one will be writing a different name, and all she has to do is decide which person will get her vote.

Roman tries to make eye contact, all jittery and shifty when Jeff asks Gerri questions. She hedges every answer, because she doesn’t want to tip her hand, doesn’t even know yet which way the vote will go. Three options, three outcomes, and she doesn’t know anything for certain. This is where the game is out of her hands, where everything that happens next is not up to her. This is the last choice she has to make.

And she whispers, “I’m sorry” into Karolina’s ear as she hugs her goodbye.

_Day Thirty-Nine_

The final tribal council is strained. Kendall has obviously practiced a speech, talking about vipers and sheep, and mixing metaphors. All Gerri can think is that he didn’t even bother to shave after getting voted out, that his scratchy beard looks patchy and weak, that it does nothing for him.

“Why Roman?” is Karolina’s question, and it’s one that Gerri can answer, and answer easily.

“He came to me on the first afternoon and offered me an alliance. And we’ve never wavered,” she says. And Karolina turns to Roman.

“Why Gerri?” she says, her voice clear.

“Because she’s a fu- because she’s a smokeshow,” Roman says, as if it were obvious, and that gets him some chuckles. If being class clown is what it takes to win, then Gerri thinks he’s got it in the bag. “But really. You have to stick with your day one alliance if you have the chance.”

Rava asks how Gerri views her string of bad luck. “You’ve been to every single tribal council, Gerri. And you escaped elimination every time.”

“That doesn’t sound like bad luck to me,” Gerri answers. “It sounds like making the best of a bad situation. I outlasted two tribes, I’m the only Saksi member left in front of you, because I did what I had to do in order to make it here.” She’s a lawyer, she’s made thousands of arguments. And she rarely loses.

Gil asks about her strategy, how she chose to play the game. “I relied on strategy and networking. And I won the final immunity challenge. I won when it mattered the most. That’s how you play it in the boardroom too. I made the game into my boardroom, and every person on this island was a CEO or a board member that I had to get on my side. It wasn’t a chess game for me, it was my life.”

And then Jeff says it’s time for the jury to vote.

_After_

It’s strange to go back to her normal life. She has to buy new clothes, because she lost so much weight on the island, eating only a cup of rice a day for so long. She doesn’t wear heels for a few weeks as her feet are still blistered and sore. She reminds herself that food isn’t finite here, that she doesn’t have to scarf down every meal.

She finds she misses parts of it, misses the friendship, the nightly fire when it felt like there was less of a gameplay, and more just getting to know other strangers on a beach. She almost doesn’t realize how much she misses it until her phone rings one night, and it’s an achingly familiar voice on the other end.

“What are you wearing?” he asks, and it surprises a laugh out of her. She doesn’t even ask how he got her number; they both have ways to get the information they need, when they want it.

It’s late and she’s had half a glass of whisky, so she tells him that she’s still in her work clothes, but that her shoes are by the door.

“Neatly lined up, I bet,” he says. “You even did that on the island, put your sneakers all tidy against the shelter.” She thinks he’s missing it too. It’s strange to have an experience that so few people in the world have had. It feels like there’s no one to talk to.

“Better to be neat than to be a full-on disaster every waking minute,” she says, enjoys his chuckle through the phone.

“Not a full-on disaster. Maybe like a category one hurricane,” he hedges.

“At least a category four. You were a nightmare, never washed one dish.” Her mind flits back to that night, their last night on the Kaibigan beach. She still wonders if there’s any footage of it.

“Never washed a dish before the show, didn’t see any reason to start,” he says casually, and she tries to imagine where he is, what he’s doing. She imagines his apartment is modern, sterile, no photographs of anyone, just over-priced art and status symbols hanging on the wall.

“Just a little boy wearing his father’s clothes,” she tells him, and she hears his breath catch, a slight murmur that prompts her to continue. “A fucked up loner that somehow made the right friend at the right time, or else he wouldn’t even have been a blip on anyone’s radar. You needed me to get to the end,” she says, words she only half-believes. Maybe he didn’t need her strategy, maybe he could’ve done it on his own.

He’s panting and she’s feeling that same power thrumming through her, the knowledge that she can do this to him, for him. “Slime puppy,” she says, and he grunts, the phone probably pressed between his ear and his shoulder, his hands in his trousers, in his boxers.

“Selfish man-child with no sense. Disgusting. Revolting. Vile.” She enunciates every letter, every syllable, and hears his groaning in reply, muffled now, like maybe he’s stuffed his face into a pillow. She wonders if he has a girlfriend.

“Better than a giant leaf,” he says, after he grunts once more, after a brief silence, and then hangs up the phone.

The next time she hears from him is at the live finale. She watched some episodes, could tell enough that she got a good edit, that they made her likeable, self-effacing yet confident. They caught her smiles, and the cameras filmed every wink, every glance between Gerri and Roman that the other tribemates missed. #GerriandRoman trends at the merge, Survivor fans eager to have them reunited. Any footage they may have gotten on the last night of Kaibigan doesn’t make it into the show. She supposes it’s good Survivor isn’t aired on HBO.

She’s seated in between Tabitha and Roman, her hair shiny and straight, red lipstick on her mouth, mascara on her lashes. It’s a whiplash to see the version of herself on the island, buff wrapped around her wrist, blue swimsuit faded from constant sun, her face freckled and tanned and thin, almost gaunt by the finale. Roman whispers in her ear that she’s way hotter now and she swats at him, doesn’t miss the fact that they’re being watched by an eagle-eyed audience.

When the episode finishes, when the final tribal council ends and Jeff turns to the seated audience, to the cast of the season, to the three finalists, it seems truly like the end of something. She grasps Roman’s hand in hers, not out of nerves but in anticipation. She thinks she’s going to win. The same confidence she has when a jury comes back with a decision during a trial settles about her shoulders now.

She squeezes Roman’s fingers as Jeff opens the chest, and starts to read out the first name. Her name.

The audience yells, cheers, applauds.

She’s got them all in the palm of her hand.


End file.
